Patient to Patient
by Bethy1416
Summary: A compilation of 'tag' fics that are little daydreams about how the stories could continue after certain episodes. Won't do one for every episode, just ones I'm inspired by. The length of tags will vary and the episodes the fics are linked to will be referenced in the chapters' titles... Will mainly be Connie-centric :)


She'd taken Gracie home, as everyone seemed to think that was the best thing to do for _her_ daughter. She wanted Grace home, of course she did, but not when there was a diagnosis to be made. _She's stubborn like you_ Sam had said when he'd approached her again after telling her his opinion about Grace's mutism. She'd bluntly responded with a slicing glare and an unamused remark that her daughter was not doing this to be stubborn.

But Grace had gone and twisted the knife in her mother's heart one more time, just to prove her wrong.

 _This is all your fault_ she'd written on the tablet.

And that's when Connie's nightmares had come true, all at once. She'd hoped Grace wouldn't blame her, despite her spending each waking moment trying to digest the guilt that was hard as stone in her stomach. She knew it was her fault. No matter how hard she tried to put the blame on others, she knew it was only her. First she'd taken it out on Jacob, she didn't blame him, but she struggled to see someone who made her happy when her daughter couldn't experience any joy. How could she? Then it was Elle. She had never truly believed herself when she'd said about her colleague's incompetence. They'd both made mistakes, secretly she could see elements of herself in the stand-in Clinical Lead. But Connie's rage was just coal to a steam engine. It powered her stubbornness and protectiveness, then there was no going back. And throughout all this, on the back burner, there was Steph. The physical, materialised force behind everything. _She_ was the one that had chased them down. _She_ was the one that had caused the crash. And _she_ was the one that Connie had nearly killed.

And no matter how Connie looked at it, there was no way she could comprehend her actions in her head. She couldn't make an excuse for them, she had had no intention of turning the suction on.

 _But I did. I reached for it,_ she thought as she lay in bed later that night. _I was going to turn it on._ But her conscience didn't accept that. Yet again, Charlie Fairhead had saved the day. It was that same night, as she replayed the day over and over, a reel on repeat, that she ended up sat in bed gasping for breath. Her hand was anxiously palming at her collarbones as the other was gripping at the sheets. She tried to focus on her breathing, trying desperately to recall words she'd recited to anxiety patients over the years, even the inhale-exhale exercises for labour. But it was like her heart and her lungs were racing ahead of her and each attempt at regaining control was just a moment too late. She got up and went to the window, tears of panic reflecting the street lights as she nudged the curtain aside. Whilst the view wasn't a serene landscape, something about the stillness that came with darkness usually relaxed her. As if in those moments of pondering beside a window her thoughts and doubts were reduced from their, often, melodramatic volume, and put into perspective whilst staring out at only a miniscule section of the world. She questioned her sanity when stood with her hands clinging onto the edge of the windowsill. Why would a window calm her? They were biological symptoms, therefore, a biological cure would be most effective.

 _I am not getting into the science of it_ she told herself. _Focus_.

And several minutes later she calmed. She wasn't sure what she did, but her breathing began to even out and her head became less frantic. For a moment she just stood there, trying to grip onto any coherent thought she could. Her eyes darted from object to object outside the window as she considered her mentality. _Just don't_. She knew much more of this would encourage another cycle of what she'd just experienced and she was too weary to go through it again.

Eventually she padded back to her bed and slid beneath the covers, her mind numb to any thought. She lay there for a while before finally drifting off.

She awoke the next morning and began getting ready for work. She knew she shouldn't. She had Grace to wholeheartedly consider now and her slumber had only been a light one. Nonetheless she continued tugging at the buttons on her blouse as she gazed at herself in the mirror.

She greeted Sam, who immediately shook his head upon seeing her dressed for work at the front door, and informed her he'd take Grace for the day.

"Getting her outside would be good for her," he'd argued. She said little in response and left him to it.

When she arrived at work, she was met with yet another pity look from Charlie.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I'm working."

He shot her an unimpressed glance. "Go home."

"Sam's taking Grace out for the day."

"So go with them."

"I'm not invited."

"And have you asked?"

She finally turned to him, for the first time in their conversation as she sifted through filieres. "I'm working, Charlie."

He put his hands up in resignation and walked away, leaving her at reception.

She went through the day without a hitch, barely allowing herself to consider the situation she'd be in upon arriving home. Which turned out to be painfully silent and tense. Grace barely looked at her and Sam struggled to. Somehow the screaming silence left her with a migraine and it felt like the searing agony of a blade to her brain. She said nothing, did nothing. Just sat staring at the wall in the living room as Grace and Sam played a board game. She hadn't even been considered, and yet she couldn't blame them.

She'd told Grace it was going to be different. Yet her daughter's evident distrust in her had harshly triggered something in Connie's head. And again she was thinking, so deeply, about it. She got up and left, with neither of her company even lifting their eyes from the board. She couldn't cry, she had no right to. As Grace had said, it _was_ her fault. But she could feel the shuddering breaths of last night's attack creeping from her lungs again and the blood crashing through the intricacies of her vessel network was echoing in her ears. This wasn't as bad as last night's, as if it was just the prequel of what was to come…

A routine began to form over the next few days, and not necessarily a beneficial one. She'd go to work, and Sam would be with Grace. And then they'd switch roles in the evening ready for their respective night shifts. It had been pointed out to her, by many seemingly judgemental colleagues, that Sam had put his new career in a threatening position by being regularly absent during the day, when he was required on the job the most. She hadn't missed this fact but at the same time she wasn't going to say anything because she knew he'd mention it eventually, it was inevitable.

And sure enough it happened.

It was the fourth day after Grace had returned home and Connie was walking through reception when she looked up to see Sam striding toward her, Grace in her wheelchair.

"What's the matter?" She asked as he murmured something to Grace and kissed her on the head. He placed the chair alongside the glass panel in reception and headed over to Connie.

"You are, Connie. You need to be home looking after _our_ daughter. I've taken night shifts but I think it's fair to say things are getting beyond extreme now."

"I'm off tomorrow."

"Well I am required here urgently _today_. _Right now._ I've used my excuses, my favours, my patience. But you've not cooperated. You said things were going to change, and you're right. They have. But not in a beneficial way for any of us. And that's on _you_. You sort it out, I need to be upstairs. And don't think this is the end of it." He said, his tone becoming sharper as his jaw became more tense. As he climbed the stairs in twos she could see the muscle in his jaw flexing with irritation and his eyebrows were drawn low in anger.

She went over to Grace and crouched in front of her, her hand coming to rest on her daughter's knee.

"Hiya Gracie, okay? Daddy's just had to go and do some work but he'll be back later." She smiled up at Grace but was given only a stern glare back. "Let's see what we can do…" she said, as she took the handles of the wheelchair and headed for her office. She should take her home, she couldn't expect her daughter to just sit gazing at a wall for the next few hours. However, Connie couldn't just abandon her team… she _was_ Clinical Lead but that's no excuse, she's also a mother… She struggled with this internal battle and for once neither option involved any personal gain or selfishness.

She got Grace onto the sofa adjacent to her desk and tucked the wheelchair aside. Now what? She stood with her hands on her hips as she debated her next move whilst Grace just defiantly stared into space. Maybe she should take her home. Maybe call Elle or inform Hanssen that she'd need someone to stand in for the rest of her shift. But she couldn't just leave her duties, her patients, her colleagues. _What would a good mother and doctor do?_ She asked herself.

"What would you like to do Gracie?" But of course she got no response.

She ran a hand over her face so that her mouth ended up nestled in her palm. She could feel the hatred seep from Grace the longer she stood there. It made her flustered and the pending decision kept stampeding through her head, taunting any common sense she may have had about the subject. She could hear the impatience of Sam's voice and the looming threat of him taking her daughter away.

She could feel the panic rising and taking a tight grip on her chest, working its way up to squeeze her throat.

"I'm just going to the toilet, I'll be back in a moment," she told her daughter and didn't bother waiting for a response.

She burst through the door of the toilets and locked herself in a cubicle. The privacy was good but the enclosed space was not as her chest seemed to lock and refuse to expand with air. She stood, with her arms stretched out and hands pressed to the wall as she tried to control the unease before it escalated. But it seemed to be failing...

He'd be lying if he said his heart hadn't twinged at the sight of the family he'd once had. He'd noticed Connie pushing Grace past the nurses' station and into her office, but decided it'd be best to leave them to it. He wasn't part of that family anymore… Once discharging his patient was complete he returned to the computer to finish logging it and noticed Connie's door was open. It wouldn't hurt to inconspicuously walk past the office, would it? Before he could even consider the answer to that question his trainers were squeaking across the vinyl floor. He approached the doorway and turned his head casually to scan the room, and saw Grace alone on the sofa, which surprised him. He had no intention of interfering, but she locked eyes with him and smiled softly. He didn't know all of Grace's symptoms, but he was aware that communication was somewhat lacking and he couldn't help but consider her smile as a plea for some company.

"Hey, you!" he said, grinning at her as he walked through the threshold. "You're the new boss around here, huh?"

Her smile widened, revealing a glimmer of pearly whites. She looked pointedly at the chair behind the desk.

"Where is she?" He asked, although not expecting much of a reply. Grace pointed towards her crotch. His brows furrowed, not completely understanding, which led to the young girl mimicking washing her hands. "Oh, she went to the toilet?"

Grace nodded. He decided it'd be best for Grace to be with someone until her mother returned, so he signalled to the spot beside her on the sofa and sat down when she shrugged in response.

"How are things?" he broached. She shrugged again. "I know it can be difficult. Especially when your mum and dad have such busy jobs. I know they love you though, very much."

Grace got up then, using the desk as support. He thought he'd upset her and went to apologise when he realised she was sitting down at the computer and was beginning to type something. He went and stood behind her to watch over her shoulder as she considered each key she pressed.

' _They give up'_ was written on the screen and it made Jacob step back and rub his hand over his head.

"They haven't given up, Firecracker. I know your mum was, _is_ , so worried about you. She wishes she could change what happened." He walked around and crouched in front of the chair. "No one can change it, unfortunately. And I'm sorry. But you can get better, in fact, I know you will! You and your mother are both strong women, and very stubborn," he joked, earning another smile. "And I know you're getting better every day."

Connie was struggling. This was different from the other night… It was getting worse, not better, no matter what she tried. When she heard the slam of the door as someone entered, she desperately tried to muffle her gasps, which only made it worsen further. Eventually her body gave in and her throat gasped. She lifted a slightly trembling hand to her mouth and forced herself to cough, hoping it would disguise her distress.

"Are you alright in there?" Someone asked. She stayed silent, hoping they would get the message. "I'm a nurse, I can help." It was Duffy.

"Fine, thank you," Connie called out. "Can you check Grace is okay, please?" She shut her eyes, and lowered her hand.

"Connie?"

"She's in my office."

"Yes, of course."

She heard the door close as Duffy rushed out, and somehow her body almost sighed with relief as she tried to calm herself again.

Jacob glanced up as someone entered the room; Duffy.

"Jacob!" she exclaimed, slightly surprised.

"Everything alright?" he asked as he saw her look of concern. She signalled for him to join her as she stepped just outside the office. "What's wrong?"

As he came to stand beside her, she pulled the door to to provide them some privacy.

"Connie's in the toilets," she began in a hushed voice. "I don't know what's going on but she sent me to check on Grace."

"What do you mean?"

"She didn't sound good."

"She was sick?"

"I don't know. Maybe? I didn't want to pry. But if I'm being honest, she sounded frantic. Perhaps you could go and check on her?"

"I don't think she'd welcome my company."

"She trusts you."

"I'm sorry, Duffy. Find Charlie, she trusts him more than she has trusted me recently. I'll stay with Grace, okay?"

Duffy huffed, right in front of him, she may as well have stamped her feet she looked so openly annoyed.

She bustled past him to search for her husband. After checking resus and cubicles, he was still nowhere to be seen. She'd left Connie five minutes ago, and something inside her could tell that no matter how independent she could be, the Clinical Lead shouldn't be alone in this moment. Duffy's feminist side shone through as she grumbled some complaint about men being hopeless as she rushed back to the toilets.

Sure enough the cubicle door was still closed.

"Connie?" she called out, checking she was still in there.

"Mmm?"

"Grace is fine, okay? Jacob's with her."

"Thank you," Connie replied conclusively.

She clearly wanted to be alone. Duffy wasn't sure what to do. She stood on the spot, deliberating for a few seconds until a gasp broke through the silence.

"Connie, love, is everything okay?" She finally asked.

"I just need a moment."

"Are you ill? Upset?"

"I'm fine," she said, her tone becoming more defensive.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, I just want to help. Please? Open the door?" She waited, but there was no sign of movement. "We don't have to mention a word of this to anyone, I promise. But I think you need my help." Duffy leaned forward and pressed an ear to the door. "Are you struggling for breath? Is it difficult to breathe?"

A few seconds passed until the click of the lock echoed around the room. Duffy immediately tried opening the door and it gave way, but Connie was blocking it from opening wide enough. The nurse eased her hand through the gap and gently nudged Connie away by her shoulder, allowing the stall door to open.

"There we are," Duffy soothed, taking to rubbing the shaken woman's back as she stood bent over with her hands pressed against the wall, her forehead resting on her upper arm. "Not asthmatic?" Connie shook her head. They both startled slightly as someone shoved the door to the toilets open. Duffy looked up and was surprised to meet Jacob's gaze before it quickly scanned over the scene. Connie hadn't moved and seemed to be only vaguely aware of her surroundings as she focused on the panic inside her.

"I think we need a chair," Duffy informed him, keeping her voice hushed so that Connie didn't start to object. He didn't move, just watched. "Jacob," she said louder. "Chair."

"Right," he agreed, and left.

"How long have you been like this?" The nurse questioned. Connie shrugged halfheartedly. "How long before I came in earlier?"

"Five… Ten... minutes?"

"Okay… That's it, breathe in… and out… slow down, we're in no rush. You're doing well… Just in, and out…"

Jacob returned with a wheelchair and applied the brakes.

"Why don't we get you out of here so you have a bit more space?" Duffy encouraged. She gently put a hand on Connie's shoulder and slowly pulled her to stand upright before leading her out of the cubicle. "You're doing alright… take your time."

Once Connie was outside of the cubicle Jacob held out a hand to help her into the chair and both he and Duffy were silently surprised when her trembling fingers reached out and she gratefully accepted the aid the chair offered.

"I feel faint," Connie muttered.

"I know, but remember that you won't. You know as well as both of us that usually it just feels like that, you've got high blood pressure and too much adrenaline to be able to faint at the moment."

"Look, Con… Why don't we take you to cubicles, so you can rest?"

"Grace," is all she replied.

"She's with Robyn for a bit."

"Once we get you sorted, I can go and get her for you?" Duffy suggested.

"No. Someone stay with her."

"One of us will stay with her, while the other sorts you out, okay?"

She nodded and Jacob steered her out of the toilets.

"I'll sit with Grace, come and find me when you're done and we'll get them home," Duffy whispered to Jacob before they parted ways.

Finally, having done some checks and getting her settled, Jacob perched on the edge of the bed where she was propped up against the pillows, on top of the covers.

"How long have you been having these?" He asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Not long," was her response. She had improved and was now fiddling with her thumbs as the heart rate monitor beeped behind them.

"How many have you had?"

"Just a couple."

"Con…" He encouraged. She finally looked up at him. They both waited for him to say something, but his words had been lost.

"It's not your problem anymore, Jacob." It stinged them to hear this aloud, no matter how softly she'd said it.

"And it's not yours to deal with alone."

"I feel that ship's already sailed."

"You're having _panic attacks_. It's never too late to change things." Somewhere, undoubtedly hidden amongst stubborn realisations and guilty admissions in her subconscious, she'd known that what she'd been suffering were panic attacks. Yet to hear him say those words made her withdraw into herself. "They're nothing to be ashamed of, Con. But you can't just ignore them. You spent at least twenty minutes trying to handle them today. You need to accept help, of some sort. And it's not a sign of weakness, because I know that's what you're thinking. Accepting help is necessary sometimes, you can't do everything alone. See someone, speak to someone, I don't mind who or how. But you need to, okay?"

She simply nodded and didn't push him away when he wrapped his arms around her, his hand coming to cup the base of her skull.


End file.
